I Didn't Understand… Until I Did (And it was my worst nightmare)
by dangkat5
Summary: "I DON'T KNOW WHY HE DID WHAT HE DID, BUT NO MATTER WHAT, HE IS NEVER COMING BACK." Steve screamed, "HE'S GONE." And the tsunami hit, shattering Peter's denial into millions of irreparable shards. Peter looked at his father, horrified and stunned as waves of emotions left him barely able to breathe.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** Depressing themes, familial death, and sometimes oblivious, kind of OOC Steve Rogers.

 _"I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil."_ -J.R.R. Tolkien

 **Part 1:**

Silence. Complete, utter silence.

Peter hated it.

There was no distant rock music. There were no explosions that made their floor tremor. There was no clanging of metal in Dad's workshop.

There was no Dad.

Something inside Peter clenched painfully, and he clenched his eyes and fist tight, holding it all in. Papa wouldn't like Peter crying out. Not when he had made Papa so upset already. He could still recall the events the night before with vivid clarity.

* * *

 **The Night Before:**

"I... I don't understand, Papa. Why?" Peter asked, eyes welling up with another flood of tears, "Why? Why would Dad do that?" The young thirteen-year-old hiccupped, his chest spasming from his prior sobbing. "When will he come back?" Of course Peter knew what death was, but there was no way. There was no way his father was gone. This was just all some sick joke... It had to be. Just watch. Dad was going to jump out from somewhere and they'll laugh it off.

Steve snapped. The heavy, thunderously loud tension that had settled days ago was drowned and destroyed under the torrents of treacherous rage.

"He isn't coming back, Peter!"

He quickly kneeled down, eye level with his son, eyes shining with tears yet stormy with a raging hurricane.

"He's NEVER coming back! I don't know! I don't know! It doesn't make sense, Peter, you hear me?! It. Doesn't. MAKE. SENSE!" Steve was shouting by the end, hot tears cascading down his cheeks as his hands trembled.

Peter's eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. No. No no nononono. He didn't want to hear any of this. It was all a mistake. His hands cupped over his ears, blocking out the offending sound. Dad was fine. Dad was fine Dad was fineDadwasfine-

But Steve would have none of that. Peter had to understand, because it was irreversible. His husband was dead, and it just didn't make sense and Peter just had to get it. He tore Peter's hands off his eyes, final line towering high and ready to crash down.

" IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE BECAUSE IT NEVER WILL, PETER. IT WILL NEVER MAKE SENSE. I DON'T KNOW WHY HE DID WHAT HE DID, BUT NO MATTER WHAT, HE IS NEVER COMING BACK." Steve screamed, "HE'S GONE." And the tsunami hit, shattering Peter's denial into millions of irreparable shards. Peter looked at his father, horrified and stunned as waves of emotions left him barely able to breathe.

Because his papa was right.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm sorry for not being able to do anything. I wish I could make it all better, but I can't." Steve whispered.

The waters began receding from their impact, and Peter knew then. He understood. This wasn't a dream. No matter how much he pinched himself and hurt himself, this was not a dream. Even if it was, this was not a dream, it was a nightmare. A nightmare that was now his horrifying reality.

Dad was gone.

Everything crashed and receded, leaving Peter feeling empty and hollow.

He slowly turned around and went into his bedroom, numb.

* * *

 **Present Day:**

Peter had been laying in bed for a long time now. He wondered if he should et up and get some food. Jarvis had asked him to, but he didn't feel like it. He felt like he could lay in bed forever and never get up. If he got up, he would have to face his worst nightmare.

Still curious, though, he called out to Jarvis, "J, what time is it?"

"It is 7:00 in the afternoon, Peter." Jarvis' voice called out.

Peter quickly did the math. He had gone to sleep at 10:00 PM and woke up at 8:00 AM, which meant... "So it's been 11 hours since I woke up?"

"Yes, Peter, which is why I strongly recommend that you go eat something. I'm sure your father would be willing to make you something."

"No," Peter said quickly, "No, I don't want to bother Papa. He's already upset enough as it is."

"If you say so, Peter." Jarvis replied almost grudgingly.

Peter just rolled over and curled up in a tight ball as he clenched his eyelids shut, trying with all his might to not think about and to not remember memories from before.

It didn't work.

* * *

 **Three Months Prior:**

"J.A.R.V.I.S.!" Tony Stark called out, and immediately, a British voice replied.

"Yes, Sir?" J.A.R.V.I.S. answered.

"Pull up the old Mark VI holograms for Peter to look at."

"Of course, Sir." Immediately, light blue holograms appeared, revealing the sleek and beautiful design of the Mark VI. Peter's mouth opened in awe, and he reached forward, tentatively pulling a panel off to reveal intricate wiring.

Peter spoke up, "Wha... Dad. I can't possibly... What if I mess something up?"

"You won't, Petey. And even if you do, I have plenty others and J has a backup. Right, J?"

"Of course, Sir." J.A.R.V.I.S. replied, "Seeing how much you seem to make errors, I deemed it essential to back every armor up every once in a while." Tony's hand flew to his chest in mock hurt.

"Nice to know what you really feel about me, J. And who taught you to sass me?" At the last sentence, Tony pointed an accusing finger somewhere at the ceiling.

"Well, I learn from the best, sir." J.A.R.V.I.S. replied wryly. Peter burst into laughter, and Tony looked at him, smiling fondly.

"Knock yourself out, Petey. You learn by doing, remember that." Peter nodded in affirmative.

Hours passed, and Peter grew hungry, but his dad was busy, hands working furiously on new gear for the Avengers. Some Widow Bites, it looked like. Sighing, Peter began digging through drawers. There had to be food somewhere.

A flash of cylindrical orange plastic with a white lid caught his eye. A... Medicine bottle? Hesitantly, Peter uncovered the bottles and turned the bottles around discretely, eyes shifting to his dad to make sure he wasn't paying attention.

One of the bottles read, "Fluoxetine (Prozac)." Before Peter could see the other bottles, he heard shuffling, and so quickly closed the drawers and turned back to the hologram just in time.

"My mouth is super dry right now and I'm starting to tire. Let's head to the kitchen and get something, alright?" Peter's dad asked.

"Sure." Peter responded. Hesitantly, he added, "How are you, Dad?"

"I'm peachy." Tony replied, smiling broadly. "Just my old age catching up to me, that's all Petey."

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! I have the majority of this five-part story written already, so updates should be pretty regular. Please review and let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is appreciated. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters mentioned. They belong to Marvel.**

 **A/N:** First, thank you SO much for reading! This part is short, but Part 3 will be coming shortly today (04/07/2016).

 **Part 2:**

Peter felt something in him constrict, and the numbness that he had felt burned into ashes, leaving only a roaring fire.

How could Dad? How could he?

Who did Dad think he was? Who did Dad think he was that he could just off himself like that like a fucking selfish coward!?

Peter thrust his head into his pillow and screamed.

The anger. The frustration. The utter anxiety and irritation and just pure anger. Peter couldn't hold it all in and it was bubbling up and overflowing and there was no outlet but his voice so he screamed. And screamed. And screamed.

Because he knew it wasn't his dad's fault. No, it was Peter's fault. How could he have not seen the signs? They were _there_.

The orange bottle of anti-depressants, so clearly labeled. The dry mouth, a side effect of some other stronger anti-depressants. The fatigue, a symptom of depression. _Why was Peter so fucking blind?_

He could have prevented all of this. He could have saved his dad. It was his fault, and the recognition of his failure ignited flames in his blood at himself.

That night, he fell into a fitful sleep.

It was so cliche, Peter couldn't help but think. They were at Tony's funeral, and it was silent, save for the shuffling of feet and the slight patter of the rain falling from the crying, gloomy gray clouds. As per Steve's request, the funeral was a private one, with just the Avengers, a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Aunt Pepper, Uncle Rhodey and a couple others in attendance. In the front of the ceremony, Tony's coffin lay open, shielded by the tarp above, as the priest ended his speech and allowed people to come up to the coffin in an orderly fashion.

Peter went up after his Papa. Tony was deathly pale, and no shining blue light shone from behind the white collar shirt covering Stark's chest. Peter looked down at the ground to blink away the rapidly forming tears but suddenly saw his hands. His hands that were covered in wet, fresh blood. A silent screamed ripped from his throat as he frantically rubbed his hands against the side of his pants, desperate to rid the blood off his hands. It only got worse.

Abruptly, Tony shot up from his coffin, eye's wide and cheeks gaunt as his skeletal hand gripped Peter's collar and yanked him close.

"It's your fault." Dead Tony said. " You killed me!"

Peter screamed, trying to get away, and called for his papa's help.

Steve came up, eyes hard as he snarled at Peter. "It's all your fault. If you had just noticed, then NONE of this would have happened."

All around them, more and more people stepped up, delivering their agreements and other cutting statements.

"You're worthless."

"You can't even save you own dad."

"You could have helped him, and you DIDN'T."

Peter shot up from his bed screaming as tears fell from his eyes.

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please review if you have any feedback or comment. Constructive criticism is accepted.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters mentioned. They belong to Marvel.**

 **Part 3:**

It has been a month of constantly fuming for Peter. Always, at the back of his mind, he felt the burning hot rage, threatening to explode and spread wreckage around him.

The smallest things set him off, but the things were like Ant-Man, small and seemingly unnoticeable and harmless when in reality, Ant-Man could barrel through your skull like nothing and take down villains.

So every time he saw one of his classmates with their father, he felt like snapping.

Every time he saw the words "Stark Industries" emblazoned on devices and buildings and really almost everything, the rage in him was stoked, flames licking higher and higher.

Every time he saw people "mourning" the death of Tony Stark as if they actually knew Peter's dad, the fire emblazoned higher and higher into a bonfire.

Every time... Every time he was reminded of his father and the broken shards of denial pressing in and slicing his skin, rage bled out.

And he couldn't take it anymore.

He erupted.

And lava spewed everywhere.

"God DAMN IT, PETER!" Steve yelled as he slammed the refrigerator door shut. The entire fridge rattled in the superhuman force applied but refused to break. It was made by Tony Stark himself, after all.

Peter stayed silent and still, watching his papa with a carefully blank face.

"Why do you keep on doing this?" Steve sobbed, leaning over to push his forehead into the crook of his elbow against the fridge door. "Do you think that I'm not also mourning your father's death? Because if that's true, then you couldn't be more wrong. Remember, Peter. I spent fifteen years loving and caring for Ton-" Steve paused for a brief second. "For him..." He finished softly as if saying his husband's name hurt him.

And it probably did, Peter realized, and he kicked himself inwardly. How could he not see it? Was he so self-conceited that he didn't even care to notice how much Dad's death affected Papa?

Again, Peter never felt such self-hatred than now with the guilt of Dad's death and Papa's suffering laying on his shoulders. It was like being Atlas, carrying the entire world on his shoulders, only he wasn't like Atlas. Already, he could feel himself cracking under the weight.

He didn't know how much longer he could last.

But... There was one thing that Peter could do that could help lessen the load on his shoulders...

But first, Papa.

"I'm sorry, Papa... I just... I get so angry seeing everyone else at school so happy with their parents." Peter confessed.

Immediately, Steve's face softened before turning into a kicked puppy face. "I'm so sorry, Pete. I should have realized. Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes. "No, not right now. I have some homework I need to finish up." Peter replied, forcing a small smile on his face. If Papa noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Yeah, of course. Go ahead. We can talk later." Papa replied.

Peter went.

In his room, he called out to Jarvis, "Hey, J?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Dad mentioned something about Agent coming back alive because of some alien serum..."

"That is correct."

"Can you pull up anything you have on that?"

"Of course, but... Peter, I have a feeling of where you are going with this, and allow me to just say that it may not be the best idea." Jarvis answered, a touch of regret in his tone. That is, assuming Artificial Intelligences could feel regret, but Dad made him, so it honestly wouldn't be such a surprise.

"Why?" Peter asked defensively.

"Because of the side effects. Sir would not be the same. That is to say, he would be a different person and not your father. The data clearly shows that Agent Phil Coulson became depressed and obsessed with aliens. I would never wish the same upon Sir, even if it meant him being alive."

Peter considered J's words before saying, "Still. Maybe we can counteract the side effects or something, but I need to try, J. Do you understand?"

"... I do."

With that, Jarvis put up various documents and photographs and files around Peter in holographic form, revealing Tony's collection of data. What he did not show Peter, however, was the necessary information to acquire or remake the GH-325 formula.

Soon, hours stretched into days, and days into months. Peter was either on edge or distant at school, as his mind worked away at the problem, growing frustrated at every passing second. At home, on the rare days when Papa was not at some foreign country on a classified mission, he plastered on a fake smile and always told Papa that he had a lot of schoolwork. As usual, Papa never questioned. That was always Dad's thing. Papa didn't really understanding Peter's schoolwork since Peter was so advanced.

Laying on his bed the night he gave up and dumped all of his additional work and research away into a holographic trash can before burrowing his hands into his hair and pulling.

How worthless was he that he couldn't even find a way to help Dad? He didn't help Dad earlier, and now that Peter wanted- needed- himself to, he failed.

It was as if the entire world was working against him.

That night, Peter allowed the tears to fall into an endless stream as he fell asleep.

Unbeknownst to Peter, Jarvis dimmed the lights and whispered softly through the speakers hidden inside the room, "Good night, Peter."

In the future, Jarvis would wonder that if Peter had heard and known, then perhaps things would be different.

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please review if you have any feedback or comment. Constructive criticism is accepted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings (THIS CHAPTER):** Suicide Attempt, Depression

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters mentioned. They belong to Marvel.

 **Part Four:**

Once the passionate rage was spewed out and swept away, all that was left in Peter was... A hollowness.

Hopelessness and helplessness.

Obsolete darkness.

It was like a gaping abyss swallowed him whole, draining him of his energy, with no beacon of light anywhere nearby.

Peter laid there in bed, no will to get up. Even J.A.R.V.I.S.'s reminders of an ongoing mini-science experiment he had going on couldn't spur him up. Eventually, hours later, he forced himself to get up lest his father worry.

He felt like he was moving through a thick gel, a haze settling into his vision, darkening the world around him as he slowly and methodically went through the motions, staring blankly ahead. It felt like hours before he finally choked down the last of his seemingly tasteless breakfast before he headed off to the workshop.

Hopefully some science could cheer up his mood.

It didn't.

Nothing. Nothing seemed to excite him anymore. The test results and data collected were nothing more than scribbles and numbers now. If anything, making the small decisions in running the experiment were troublesome and difficult, leaving Peter irked.

Especially when he made the wrong call. The experiment fell away into shambles, and Peter felt tears burning the back of his eyes. Couldn't he do anything right?

So many things he had done wrong... From accidentally ruining Dad's latest invention to getting beat up by Flash Thompson... He always failed. He couldn't do anything right. He couldn't save Dad.

Peter's hand clenched before he abruptly turned away from his lab bench and stalked to the elevator. He pushed the button for the floor with his bedroom. When the door opens and he stepped out, a voice called out his name.

"Peter." Steve, Papa, called out.

Peter forced a brittle smile on his face, feeling tense and awkward. "Yeah, Papa?"

"Everything alright?"

"Never been better. I'm just tired from working in the lab, so I'm gonna take a nap and then do some homework. See you later, Pops." Peter responded, the cheeriness and reassurance in his voice sounding fake and harsh to his ears.

His papa didn't seem to notice as he bid Peter goodbye and sweet dreams.

Trudging into his room, Peter collapsed onto his bed and curled up, fatigue and sobs wracking his body.

Hours turned into days, and days into weeks.

The same, unrelenting hopelessness marred Peter's once beautiful world. 

With every turn, he saw his dad.

With every turn, he remembered his failure.

With every turn, the world turned darker. 

Until one day, he found himself in the bathroom, all alone. Peter had managed to disable J.A.R.V.I.S. for a couple of hours using the programming and skills he learned from his dad. Peter studied himself in the mirror.

He was a mess. His hair was unruly and beneath his eyes were dark bags, accented against his unusually pale skin and the red rimming his eyes from his crying. He was skinnier than usual, he noticed, as his hands clenched the edge of the counter.

Suddenly, insurmountable, pure hatred and rage exploded within him, intensified by the juxtaposition of such raw emotion against his past, unsaturated, resignation. His hand snapped out, quick and unrelenting, smashing the mirror into pieces. A guttural shout ripped from his throat, mixing with the high pitch sound of shattering glass.

Blood trickled from his knuckles, painting the pale skin red. Peter made a noncommittal sound in response to the stinging flares of pain as he flexed and unflexed his hand, morbidly fascinated by the blood.

Staring at the shards and recognizing that J.A.R.V.I.S. would be out for a while longer, Peter decided then that the dreams and thoughts that haunted his mind would be put into action.

He turned, filled the tub with water, grabbed a shard of glass, and climbed in. 

It was odd, this feeling. It was like he was coldly detached from his physical body as he pressed the cold, unfeeling shard against his partially submerged wrist. 

And sliced.

* * *

His hearing came back first, a steady beep shattering the peaceful and beautiful black abyss his consciousness had been occupying. Peter tried to open his eyes, but the light blinded him, causing him to hiss slightly. Nauseous and disoriented, he tried to sit up and gather himself. What was he doing here?

As he sat up, he tugging his hand away from the encompassing warmth. Confused when it didn't work, he looked down and recognized his papa's hand. Eyes tracing the hand up the forearm to the shoulder and the messy, greasy, unkempt hair, and finally to Steve's pale face with red-rimmed eyes, it all clicked.

Memories of what had happened in the bathroom flooded his mind. Whether he was glad or disappointed he didn't succeed, Peter didn't know. But, he did know one thing. He had failed again . He couldn't even kill himself properly.

Steve's eyes fluttered open, gazing blearily at Peter. Fast as lightning, he shot up, eyes wide and pleading and sad. "Peter," he breathed out.

Awkwardly, Peter squirmed a bit, the IV attached to his arm wriggling as a result. "Hey, Papa…" He braced himself, waiting for the angry words of disapproval from his patriotic, all-good papa. But it never came.

"I'm so sorry," Steve pleaded, even more tears building up in his eyes, "I'm so sorry that I didn't notice the pain you were feeling Peter. I was so focused on my own grief that I never took the time to see what you were- are - going through. All those weeks I spent away from home on a mission to help overcome my grief, I left you alone. I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry, Peter. Please, you have to forgive me."

Peter felt his own tears building up at his papa's heartfelt apology, and he found himself replying, "It's okay, Papa." At Steve's disbelieving face, he reaffirmed it. "It's okay."

Steve pulled Peter tightly into his arms, loud sobs wracking Steve's muscular frame. Hesitantly, Peter wrapped his own arms around his father, before also gripping his father back hard. The tears he tried to hold back every night erupted from him.

It felt like hours has passed before Peter and Steve pulled apart, new understanding lighting their once dimmed eyes.

Eyes watery, Steve's lips pulled upward into a shaky smile. "It just occurred to me that we didn't have that talk I promised you about Tony's death. How about we have that conversation?"

His papa's words were light a lighthouse, promising guidance, support, and a safe return back home. Peter couldn't help but smile, a small, glowing warmth of hope blossoming within. 

It would take time, but things would be okay.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review if you have any feedback or comment. Constructive criticism is accepted. The next and final chapter will be the epilogue, where how Tony died and how Peter was saved will be revealed.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long! This last part is significantly shorter, but I hope you enjoy!

Steve and Peter talked. And talked. And talked.

They talked about everything and anything, and when they got to Tony's death and everything after, Peter curled up into a ball and cried like all of those nights before.

Only this time, his papa was there, and he swept Peter up into his arms and held him tight against him.

"I'm so sorry Pete. I'm so sorry. I wasn't there for you before, but I am now." Steve implored.

Peter sniffled into Steve's shoulder, snot and tears staining Steve's jacket a darker color.

"I told you already… It's okay." Peter replied.

"... How many times have you told me you were okay when you weren't actually?" Steve whispered, terrified of the answer.

As expected, the answer tore a hole into his heart. "Too many to count." Peter whispered back.

Steve tightened his hold on his child, rocking him back and forth. Why did this have to happen?

His thoughts were interrupted by Peter's meek question. "What happened after I… you know…"

Steve understood immediately. "J.A.R.V.I.S. took down your firewalls pretty quickly, and when he came to, he saw you in the tub and immediately called 911 and I," Steve said, before adding on, "Peter, we're going to have to talk about disabling J.A.R.V.I.S., even if it wasn't for that long."

"... I thought I disabled him for longer than that but… Dad did make him." Peter waited a bit, before saying out loud for the first time, "I miss Dad, Papa."

Peter's eyes squeezed together, fighting back the tears from falling again. He felt so exhausted and drained.

Steve noticed immediately. "I miss Tony too, Peter. But you know, it's okay to cry every now and then." A small smile formed on his face. "'I will not say, do not weep, for not all tears are an evil.'"

Peter's eyes snapped open with surprise and wonder. "J.R.R. Tolkien! How do you know that author?"

Steve grinned through his forming tears, "Your father showed him to me many months ago. He made us marathon them during one of our anniversary dinners. You know how he was. He was so set on catching me up on all of that pop culture stuff…"

As Steve and Peter talked, for the first time ever, Peter felt like he was going to actually be okay.

 **A/N:** And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for reading!

Answering some of the questions brought up in the reviews...

1\. This is an alternate universe from the MCU, so Tony is actually dead and this isn't taking place in IM3. Thanks for asking!

2\. Tony did commit suicide and he won't be coming back... Sorry.

3\. That's a great idea! I'll be sure to work on that request, but it may take a while with school, clubs, and standardized testing going on.


End file.
